----------------------
### **1. A Day Too Long**
The sun was unforgiving.
Even under the partial shade of the jacaranda trees that lined the Law Faculty's narrow walkway, Amara Chisom Okeke could feel the heat clinging to her like unpaid bills—heavy, stubborn, suffocating.
She sat on the cracked bench outside the Dean's office, her heart racing with a blend of fear, shame, and rage. Her fingers trembled as she clutched the tattered envelope in her lap. Inside it was a letter that felt like death: **Final Notice of Withdrawal**.
The school had finally followed through on its threat. She was officially expelled.
Over ₦320,000 in unpaid tuition. No deadline extension. No appeal.
"I just needed two more months," she whispered to no one, her voice dry, her throat aching.
Two more months and she would have completed her final semester. Two more months, and all the sleepless nights working at the campus eatery, selling thrift clothes online, borrowing, sacrificing—**all of it**—would have meant something.
Now, it was all dust.
She blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall. Not here. Not where they could see her—these students with wealthy parents, glowing skin, and iPhones in their designer bags.
Her phone buzzed in her old canvas tote. It was her younger sister, Adaora.
> *"Aunty Ama, the landlord came again. He said we have until tomorrow or he'll throw our things out. And—um—there's no food again. I'll manage, okay? Don't worry about me. I love you."*
Amara's hands tightened around the phone until her knuckles turned white.
She wanted to scream. To curse the universe. To disappear.
Instead, she rose to her feet, shoulders squared like a soldier, and walked down the corridor, past whispering students and judgmental stares.
She had to think. She had to do something.
She had to survive.
---
### **2. Collision Course**
The tiny café near the back gate of the university was mostly empty—just a few students sipping overpriced lattes and whispering about exam results and who was dating who.
Amara barely noticed them as she walked in, her legs heavy, her stomach growling.
She had no business being there—no money, no appetite, no hope. But it was the only place she could think of that had air conditioning and was far enough from the main campus to avoid familiar faces.
She stood in line, lost in thought, until someone barked behind her:
> "Move, if you're not ordering."
She turned sharply, already irritated. "Excuse me—"
Her words caught in her throat when she saw **him**.
Tall. Impeccably dressed. Chiseled like a marble statue carved by a bitter god.
Dr. Damian Adewale Stone.
Criminal Law professor. Son of a senator. Rumored co-owner of the university. And possibly the coldest man she had ever met.
They called him *"The Ice Lord."*
And right now, his face was every bit as glacial as his reputation.
> "Miss Okeke," he said, voice like winter. "Still standing in the way of progress, I see."
Amara flushed with embarrassment. "I didn't realize—"
Before she could finish, her elbow knocked into a table, and the waitress passing by spilled a full cup of steaming cappuccino—**on his suit**.
Dead silence.
Her eyes widened. His white shirt was stained brown. Her heart dropped to her stomach.
> "Oh my God. I—I didn't mean—"
> "Clearly," he said, lips tightening. "And yet, here we are."
The waitress apologized profusely, but he waved her off with a glare and focused his icy attention on Amara.
> "Follow me."
> "What?"
> "Now."
He turned and walked out.
She hesitated for a second, then followed.
---
### **3. The Offer**
He led her to the bookstore two blocks from campus, up a private stairwell, into a quiet lounge that overlooked the city. She'd heard of this place. It was a VIP room for staff and faculty—reserved only for the most influential.
She had no idea why he brought her here.
She stood awkwardly, hands clenched.
> "Sit," he ordered.
She didn't.
> "What exactly am I doing here?" she asked finally, voice sharper than she meant.
He looked her over, his eyes sharp. Too sharp.
> "You were expelled today."
She stiffened. "How do you know that?"
> "I own part of this university. I know everything that happens within its walls."
A long pause.
Then he sat, crossed his legs, and spoke with the cool calm of someone delivering a verdict.
> "You're in a desperate situation, Miss Okeke. You need money. You're broke. Homeless soon, I assume. And judging by that message from your sister earlier—"
Her blood ran cold. "You were listening to my call?"
> "You were speaking loud enough for the entire café to hear," he said flatly.
She wanted to slap him. Arrogant bastard.
> "Why are you saying all this? To humiliate me?"
> "No. To offer you a solution."
Her breath caught.
> "Marry me."
The silence was deafening.
> "What?"
> "Legally. Temporarily. One year. No romance. No sex. No emotions. Just paperwork."
> "Why the hell would you want to marry me?"
He stood, walked to the glass window, and stared out.
> "My father's estate is tied to a condition in his will. If I'm not married within the next thirty days, I lose control of my shares in this university, among other things. I need a wife. You need money. It's simple."
She laughed, bitter and confused. "You want to make me your wife... like I'm some business transaction?"
> "Yes."
> "You're insane."
> "You're broke."
Another silence.
He turned, his eyes meeting hers.
> "I'll pay your tuition. Clear your hostel debt. Pay for your sister's treatment. And give you ₦10 million when it's over."
Her heart was beating so loud she could hear it in her ears.
₦10 million?
That was more than she had ever imagined. More than enough to give Adaora a better life. To rebuild. To finish school.
But this?
A marriage?
To *him*?
> "There must be a hundred other girls who'd line up to marry you. Why me?"
He stepped closer. Not touching her. Just close enough that she could feel the cool aura of his presence.
> "Because you're desperate enough to accept. And smart enough not to fall in love."
---